


Biding Time

by mneiai



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Bashing, Character Death, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Don't Like Don't Read, Dorian Havilliard is Part Valg, F/M, M/M, Manipulation, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Relationship(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Spoilers for all books, Time Travel Fix-It, Valg Lore, sandbox
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2020-12-21 21:55:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 13,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21063515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mneiai/pseuds/mneiai
Summary: At first, there was peace--the day was saved, the evil defeated, the bright future shining ahead of them--but peace could not last in a world so broken.And Dorian is sent back decades earlier, to just before his world of glass starts to shatter, to fix what is already long lost.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I love time travel fix-it fics lol I gave that tag to this, but feel like I should specify (if the summary didn't do so) that the fix-it is not necessarily for what happens in the books, but for the dark future that comes after all of the dust settles. Because the world is REALLY fucked up by that point and it's hard to imagine all they needed to do was kill two Valg and suddenly everything is going to be puppies and sunshine.
> 
> Anyway, also you should heed that this is DARK. Dorian already has a pretty massive amount of PTSD and shit to deal with at the end of the series and he's coming off of a bunch more awful stuff happening, so he's gonna be a little OOC. The actual events, the details and stuff, of his past (post canon until he gets sent back) will come out as the story progresses.
> 
> And anyone who knows my ASOIAF fics and my obsession with Starks having Other blood can already guess that this is going to do a lot of delving into Dorian (and Hollin) having Valg blood and what that means for them.
> 
> This will update infrequently and just a warning but I'm not sure I'll finish because this isn't really my fandom.

Dorian awakens to the familiar, horrible chiming of the clocktower's bells. He lies in bed, heart racing, trying to convince himself it's just some bad dream.

For the bed is one he recognizes, one that hasn't existed in years. The same with the room around him. The same, he knows, if he looks out the window towards the clocktower he can _feel_, pushing sluggishly against his magic. And the glass palace that is surely there, as well.

_Fix this,_ Hollin had said, staring at him with horrifying black eyes that Dorian knew weren't from possession. _You ruined it all, so you'll be the one to fix this._

His brother had killed himself, then, adding his blood to their mother's, activating the last of the wyrdmarks he'd carved. There had been no time to stop it, no time for Dorian to use his magic to prevent...whatever it was.

And now he was here. In a younger body. In an earlier time period.

Guards rushed into the room and he flinched, barely refraining from reaching out with invisible hands to push them back out. These, he reminded himself, were not the possessed guards that eventually filled the buildings and grounds. These were _Chaol's_ men.

"My prince! We heard a shout!"

Dorian blinked at them, before taking a deep breath, shaking his head. "It was nothing, just a bad dream."

That explanation didn't seem to satisfy them, but they left. And he, seeing the rays of sunlight beginning to reach through the horizon, slid out of the bed.

He spent long moments running his hands over the clothing in his wardrobe, styles he no longer wore, fashions that had not been seen in years. After choosing what he thought was a neutral enough outfit, he hurried out, heading straight towards the library.

First, he'd find all of the books on wyrdmarks he could and bring them back to his rooms, hide them among his collection so they were unnoticeable. Then he had a sword to collect.

And then--he paused, eyes going up towards his father's rooms--and then he had to decide what he would do about the Valg. About his father and Erawan.

After seeing Yrene do it, Dorian knew he could burn out the prince within his father, but Erawan...he wasn't so sure. Not when the Valg king still had two of the keys in his possession. And if he took out the prince in his father _without_ taking care of Erawan, it would give too much warning.

Already there were experiments being done. Already there were forces being gathered.

He'd dropped the books off in his room, the ones he could find, and was on his way towards the room that would be Aelin's in another life when a page caught up to him. "My prince," the boy murmured, bowing, and motioning towards the glass castle. "Your father is...concerned by your absence."

Dorian mentally cursed as he followed the boy back towards the castle and the council meeting he'd overlooked. As king he'd set his own schedule and would not have forgotten such a thing, but as prince he was still at the mercy of his father's often abrupt planning.

Or, abrupt-seeming. He had no way of knowing how many of these were scheduled to distract them all of them from what the Valg were doing.

Duke Perrington was there, just the sight of him, even as innocuously human-seeming as he was, set Dorian on edge. He had to clamp down on the untrained magic stirring in this body, on the expression of distaste he wanted to make.

"So kind of you to join us," his father ground out in reprimand as Dorian took his seat.

It was only halfway through the meeting, as they began to wind through a report on wine exports, that Dorian realized what meeting this was. Of _course_ Hollin would send him to this exact moment.

When his father announced his 'need' for a Champion, Dorian felt a sinking in his stomach. He glanced up, accidentally catching Perrington's gaze, and for a moment he swore he could see the gold lurking behind the black.


	2. Chapter 2

Celaena Sardothien.

In that last life, she’d been his, eventual, choice for Champion. To annoy his father, to punish him for making Dorian take part in his ridiculous competition. 

He had not known until it was far too late to do anything about it that she was Aelin Ashryver Galathynius. The assumed dead heir of fire, princess of Terrasen, the one other person who could right the ridiculous wrong their ancestor had made.

His former lover. His former friend.

And the most hurtful of the betrayals he’d faced before Hollin--desperate, mad Hollin--sent him back here.

Dorian could collect her, bring her here, make everything smoother, easier. Teach her the wyrdmarks, warn her about Maeve’s treachery and Erawan’s plots. Help her get the third key and plot to get the others.

Would that change the future? Or would her hatred for Adarlan fester and the other rulers influence her against him once more?

_Fix this_, Hollin had pleaded. 

But he had no idea how.

***

“Is all well, my prince?” 

Dorian’s head shot up at the question and he realized that the others had all left, leaving just him and the Duke--Erawan, so close and thankfully still so ignorant--alone.

“I just...didn’t sleep well.” 

Perrington was much better at faking sympathy than his father, though he rarely bothered with Dorian anymore. “Are you not feeling well, your highness?”

If he wanted to fix things, maybe this is where he should start. Not some suicide-run to destroy the Valg in hopes Aelin would still eventually be able to create the Lock, but with guiding Erawan to do what _he_ wanted. 

Erawan would be expecting the Dorian he knew, the Dorian of before everything fell apart. After all, Erawan had possessed Perrington before Dorian was ever even conceived, had known him his entire life. And the Dorian of this moment was not a practiced, ruthless liar, not someone with near-unlimited raw magic and the knowledge of how to use it.

Dorian took a deep breath, then gave a pained-looking smile. “No, just...bad dreams.” Perrington made a curious noise, prompting Dorian to continue. “It was...dark. Black. The whole world felt like it was nothing but...fear. Despair. And I could see myself, I was older, but I wasn’t...right.” He brought up the memories of the collar he’d worn, the room of them under Morath where Erawan had been locked away, and that moment sometime in his 30s when he realized he wasn’t aging, when he looked in the mirror and saw traces of gold in the blue of his eyes.

For his part, Erawan looked fascinated, his eyes a little wide, his mouth open slightly as if tasting Dorian’s fear in the air around them. “Not right? How so?”

He shuddered, not entirely faking it, and stared at the wall beyond Perrington’s head. “Like I...wasn’t human. Like a part of me never was.”

Perrington sucked in a breath, obsidian eyes roving over Dorian. There, he’d given him the hint, and perhaps all he had to do was wait for Erawan to act on it. Hopefully, if nothing else, if Erawan thought Dorian was more Valg than he seemed, it would mean a collar was less likely.

“Dark dreams indeed, your highness. Hopefully they’ll resolve themselves soon.”

They said their goodbyes then, Perrington giving a polite bow before heading out. There was no indication he was the true power in the empire, that Dorian was just one of his many pawns.

Turning to collect his notes, Dorian saw movement at the back of the room and froze. His father stood there, watching him carefully. Or perhaps it was the Valg within, wondering if Dorian was _his_ child in truth.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no friends that have read these books and a bunch of extremely out there headcanons and ideas, so if anyone wants to chat, I'm on tumblr at [manyangledone](https://manyangledone.tumblr.com).

Chaol looked so young, so innocent, it broke Dorian’s heart. He couldn’t stop watching him, though he not to be too obvious or creepy about it. This was a man who still had faith in the institutions he believed in, who thought himself honorable and right. 

A man who had yet to face loss, over and over, as they had in the other world.

“None of these will do,” Dorian said, throwing the short list that Chaol had made of potential champions back on the desk, not quite recalling what he’d done in the last life with it. “They’re too….”

“Too…?”

“Ordinary,” he finally decided on, not missing the way Chaol barely kept from rolling his eyes at that. “And unlikely to stand up against some of the other contestants people will bring. Criminals: elite soldiers, thieves, assassins....”

“You look like you have an idea.” There was wariness there, but a playful sort, the sort of a friend who knew Dorian was about to do something reckless and not the Hand that knew they were making a last stand.

Dorian smirked, shifting to lounge more comfortably in the chair. He’d missed even this place. So much had been lost in attack after attack on Rifthold and the nostalgia he had for even the old rooms within the castles was very real. Even the oppressive heat outside, the stench of the city that chased half the courtiers away, couldn’t dim it.

“You’re not going to like it.”

“Of that I have no doubt. I’m just surprised you put any effort into this, I thought you’d hate this whole contest.”

He had, hadn’t he? In the last life, he remembered being outraged at it and his forced participation. Now he had no real care, even knowing what would happen during it, as he’d seen so much worse from the Valg than this.

But this conversation, this decision, was another chance to turn back. He could keep Aelin hidden in the prison camp, but if he didn’t get her out now, he didn’t know when he’d have the chance to free her. Could he justify leaving her there? Could he justify bringing her here, into the heart of Erawan’s plots? But there was a chance someone else would free her--Hamel had claimed he planned such a thing--and that might be the worst choice of all.

“My father will not back down, so all I can do is make sure whoever becomes Champion is someone that owes me for it. So if father wants the best, I’m going to give him the best. The best assassin of our time: Celaena Sardothien.”

The groan Chaol gave made Dorian’s smile a little more genuine. Whatever choices he made, he’d try to protect Chaol this time, as best as he could. No more begging for ignorance as Chaol did the hard work of fighting against the Valg.

Maybe he could find a way to send him south, so that he might meet Yrene. But...would they even fall for each other, if Chaol did not go through everything he had? He’d been a different person at the start, they all were.

Dorian still had too many questions and no answers.

“I’ll inform my father tomorrow.” He raised his eyebrows, making it clear with a look that the issue wasn’t up for debate, not even by Chaol. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re there, to see his expression.”

***

Since coming back, Dorian did not bother with his mother--he had no use for the woman who saw him as little more than a toy. The pain of being collared and his own, un-possessed mother ignoring the differences in him had never really left him. That even after everything of the Valg were revealed on her return to Rifthold, she never bothered to comment on his enslavement, to apologize or sympathize.

She wasn’t worth his time.

But his father...that was someone he found himself spending more time around. It was hard acting so indifferent when he knew what he was going through, how he was struggling against the Valg inside of him, and hoped that perhaps the King would give him some reason to thaw towards him. Even pretending at a cordial relationship would be a relief--he’d spent so long hating his father, he’d like to have a few newer memories of being friendly with him.

If anyone else noticed the change in his behavior, they made no comment. He was, after all, going to spend at least a month traveling around Adarlan to get his Champion, there was a lot of work for the crown prince to take care of before his absence.

Nevermind that he wanted to be on his father’s good side so that when he came back, he could at least try a constructive solution to closing Endovier. He’d told him once, in that other life, that the prison camps only made rebellion more likely and that belief hadn’t changed. And Endovier...the horrors of it were not something he wished to abide.

“You’re being almost dutiful,” his father finally called him out the day before he was to leave, “did your last fling break your heart so badly you’re burying yourself in your work?”

“Hardly, father, as you say, they’re simply flings. What this does is keep me away from mother’s clutches.” Dorian made a show of shuddering in horror, his mocking smile in place. “And her plans to marry me off.”

The king made a noise somewhere between annoyance and laughter, no more fond of his wife than his son, Dorian was starting to see. “She has yet to find a woman worthy of the future king.”

“It’s not as though there are many princesses left. Unless you plan to settle things with Wendlyn through marriage.”

The disgusted look at that must have been purely the Valg’s, his dislike of Fae pronounced. “I would sooner see you dead than married to an Ashryver.”

Dorian grimaced, narrowing his eyes at his father. “That’s not much of a claim, you’d sooner see me dead than many things.”

Still at the forefront, he knew, from the look in his eyes, the Valg’s voice dropped into a tone Dorian was unused to hearing from his father, one similar to what Manon might have thought was comforting. “I will not see you forced to prostrate yourself before the Fae.”

He thought of Aelin, and her court. Of the Fae and Demi-Fae he’d believed to be his friends for too many years. And how they reacted to anyone with the least bit of Valg blood in their veins in the end.

“Then I suppose I should look elsewhere.” 

The Valg took Dorian’s chin with a shockingly gentle touch, watching him for long moments before seeming to find what he was looking for. Satisfied, he released him and set about organizing his papers in preparation to leave. 

“Duke Perrington will accompany you on your trip.”

Dorian frowned. He vaguely remembered this from the last time, but couldn’t remember what the excuse was. Had Erawan been up to something at Endovier while Dorian was with Aelin? Or had he gone simply to study Dorian while he was away from Rifthold and his father’s influence?

“I am an adult, father, I don’t need a chaperon.”

His scowl made Dorian regret speaking. “I am your father, and your king, and you are old enough to put aside your childish rebellions and follow my orders.”

Forcing himself to stay still, keeping his magic as dimmed as he could, Dorian lowered his head in confirmation and submission. In his last life, he’d had a very hard time watching his temper with his father, but that was before he knew what he was. It was much easier keeping calm when he knew there was a Valg watching him behind those dark eyes.

“Of course, father.”

Silence, and then, “Have your dreams continued? The ones where you feel...not human?”

Dorian clenched his teeth, giving as uncomfortable a look as he could manage to add to his act, keeping his head bowed so his father could not see any lie in his eyes. “Yes.”

“Have they gotten worse?”

In another life, they had. The older Dorian grew, in mind even after his body had stopped, the more that dark cold place inside of him expanded. 

“...Yes.”

“Is that where this sudden...interest...in the Fae has come from?” His disgust soaked into the room.

Dorian shook his head, looking--making himself feel--fearful. His father hated the Fae, his father _committed genocide_ against the Fae, so it seemed the proper response to that suggestion. 

“No, it doesn’t...whatever the dreams are trying to tell me, I doubt it’s about being _Fae_. They’re too...natural for this.”

The chuckle that came from his father made Dorian’s skin crawl. “Good. There is much I will put up with from you, but a sudden love of our enemies is not one of them.”

He let himself look up, staring intently. “Do you know what the dreams are?”

“I have some ideas.” His father’s dark smile was not comforting. “Perhaps when you return, I’ll tell you.”

Dorian was glad to leave the room, hurrying to his own chambers with the excuse that he still had to prepare more for the trip. This would be a shorter trip than in the last life, since he knew exactly where to find Aelin, but there was no sense making others suspicious with his confidence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The part with Chaol takes a little bit from the extra book chapter of their deciding on a Champion, but not much. Dorian is really fucking with the timeline in small ways already lol


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got the next few chapters mostly written, but there's something I'm debating doing and, if I do it, debating WHEN to do it, so I'm mostly juggling stuff around and being indecisive lol

The trip to Endovier would be quicker than in the last life. He knew exactly where Aelin was kept, so there was no need to search for her. And he had the vague remembrance that he may have even stalled the trip a bit, to stay away from home, and his father, longer.

Dorian had little more to focus on than his plans. And, specifically, his plans for Aelin.

The Lock, he decided, was not worth it. Erawan himself had told Dorian how the keys were made, which implied they could be _unmade_ in a similar manner. The gods were cruel, manipulative beings, they hadn’t told his ancestors the truth because they didn’t want to.

He could find Yrene, or another healer like her, to repair the gate. Or maybe he could even do it himself. His magic had not been half-stolen in the forging of the Lock, he had a well of power he doubted he would ever reach a limit to.

All he needed was to collect the three keys and, somehow, keep the gods from interfering too much.

That part, he knew, he’d have to work on. He’d been so overwhelmed his first few weeks back he’d forgotten he had _other_ enemies to worry about, ones he’d never really faced.

After his nightmares forced him from sleep nearly every night, Dorian would stay up in his tent, practicing what little magic he thought he could risk with Perrington so close. He knew what he was doing, now, and the exercises were more to get this body used to it.

It did give him the chance to practice hiding, shielding his presence from others with power. Maybe, eventually, from the gods themselves.

He needed to be ready for anything at any moment. He couldn’t fail.

***

The days went by quickly until, in a way that felt too sudden, he had Aelin before him, weak and all-but helpless. Near-broken.

He’d seen her like that before, to different extents, during the war against Erawan. But she’d been the opposite the last time he’d seen her--self-righteous fury and a careless regard for any life that was beneath her.

Neither of them had made it through that war intact. Sometimes he wondered if the forging of the Lock hadn’t just taken power from them, but if it had taken out chunks of their souls, as well. If his father’s sacrifice hadn’t been enough, or had come too late.

He lounged on his throne in the room at Endovier, projecting a lazy coldness he’d perfected, and watched her. Parts of this scene were etched into his memory, but others he had to fill in.

No matter what he’d been like back then, though, he knew he hadn’t been raging in his mind against her as she postured and preened. That he hadn’t been thinking of all the ways to end her as she gave her dangerous looks and clearly debated the ways she could kill him before his guards could intervene.

Dorian made the offer, allowed her to bargain him down to four years of service, and sent her off with Chaol. He'd known she'd accept, just as he had in the other life, and had set aside money from his own household, had arranged a room, everything was ready for their return. Everything but him.

He didn’t let himself wrap shaking hands around body or gasp for air that didn’t seem to fill his lungs until he was alone and the door shut behind them.

She’d been in her human form, the form that had died with something of her in the plains between existence, but she’d still been Aelin. How no one in the life before had ever noticed it, he didn’t know. Her very eyes told the truth of who she was.

Could he trust her in this life? Did he dare? Her hatred of him had been so intense and he was nothing but a proxy for his father--Prince Dorian had never done anything to hurt her before in this world.

He ran a hand over the red wyvern on his tunic, thinking of Manon and Abraxos. Thinking of the years of happiness he’d been allowed until the world came crashing down. He’d need his answer soon, his plots were too fragile for hesitance. 

***

Dorian rode much of the way home with Perrington beside him, keeping him away from Aelin. While the guards with them were Chaol’s men, and lacked the telltale black rings of the Valg footsoldiers, he was careful with his attitude towards the Valg king. He had still managed, somehow, to keep his magic hidden, but if he was to go up against Erawan now it would be disastrous. 

“You’ve been surprisingly well-behaved, your highness,” Perrington commented, his father’s best friend and cousin ranking high enough to be so informal in private.

“Is that so surprising? I have had you here with me on our king’s behest to keep me in line.”

Perrington didn’t acknowledge the comment, knowing just as well as Dorian that his presence had nothing to do with it. “You had one of your dreams, last night.”

“I dreamt, yes.”

With her at the forefront of his mind, he’d had a nightmare of Manon’s death, perhaps the hardest of the ones he’d been around to witness in those final years. When his thoughts wandered, he could still feel the blue blood coating his hands as he tried, with the cold nothing left of his exhausted magic, to heal her.

“Endovier surely didn’t help.” The statement made sense--the prison camp was enough to unnerve any person--but Dorian sensed a hidden meaning. 

Did Erawan think the Valg part of him was more active from the massive suffering of the mines? 

His hands clenched on the reins of his horse to keep from reaching for his neck to feel along the scar that wasn’t there. The Valg Prince had delighted in teaching him to find pleasure in the pain it caused others and it had succeeded. He still remembered those dark days when he’d given into it, let himself enjoy everything.

“I thought you were a proponent of Endovier, your grace.”

Perrington offered a sleazy smile. “Oh, I am, your highness, but I know how much such places can influence young minds.”

Valg doublespeak was still opaque to Dorian, leaving him scrabbling for what Perrington might actually mean. “I’m not _that_ young.”

“Compared to myself? To your father? You are but a babe, still.” 

Both had been locked away for centuries, Erawan had lived for millennia before that. Dorian supposed, for a Valg, he was incredibly young.

How long could he have had, in the other life, if enemies hadn't been lurking around every corner?


	5. Chapter 5

The echo of the past followed everything he did or said with Aelin. This time he was more careful, as if he truly believed he shouldn't socialize with her, and he assigned others to help train her, limiting her time with Chaol.

There was no sense repeating exactly what they'd done in the last life when he knew the bonds they forged would never be enough for her.

When she asked to use the library, he gave her permission instead of sending her books from his personal collection. The room he put her in had no secret passages. The servant he assigned her was little more than his spy.

None of this would surprise anyone. If anything, looking back, he wondered if something had influenced his choices in the last life to set Aelin up to find out the dark truths lurking in the castle. It’s not as though that secret passage was that hard to find, knowing they generally were kept under artworks as he did. And the servant he’d given her was an older one inherited from his grandfather’s household who had never bothered reporting to him about most of what she did.

His mind was more tightly locked down than it had been even when he faced Maeve. His choices would be his own--whatever mistakes he made, those he would own, too.

Still, he had a wardrobe prepared for her, had her fed and pampered as a lady guest would be. The same excuse as last time was used, though he knew that it made no difference in the end. But pretending she was his current lady love was still amusing, if only because in another life, one without the Valg, they may have been betrothed.

When she went before his father, he watched carefully for any reaction from him or Perrington. But they truly seemed to miss who she was, perhaps his father too caught up in the humiliation a teenage assassin had caused to notice her eyes, her resemblance to one of his favorite pet generals.

Or maybe the gods could interfere with the minds of the Valg, too.

***

How he'd avoided most of the courtiers before leaving, he didn't know, but now seeing this particular one was a pleasant shock.

“Lady Kaltain.” 

Knowing everything she’d been in the last life, that unlike himself she’d been strong enough to resist the collar, Dorian couldn’t help but be respectful. Perhaps in this life she was who he should pursue, a wife who could handle the Valg, at least in her own way.

If she seemed surprised by his warmth, she didn't show it. Aelin was watching them closely, as if waiting for him to dismiss the courtier as he had a few of the others who had tried to catch his attention, but instead he left her to Chaol and focused on Kaltain.

He wondered if Perrington would leave her alone if Dorian showed interest. What was worth more to him, using Kaltain specifically for his experiments or having Dorian continue being unusually docile and accepting of his duties?

She may only be a lesser lady, but her father had money to make up for that. And she was beautiful and courtly. He could almost imagine a life where all the lies kept and she became his Queen, holding court so he would not have to, whispering the relevant gossip into his ears so he didn't need to play with the courtiers for it himself.

Clever, that's what she'd been in the last life. Determined, intelligent. Used and abused by Perrington over and over and still managing to break free as Dorian would have never been able to.

He didn't know if he could ever love her, but he was far beyond the point where he thought he needed a love match. He'd had love, true love, twice. If he never had it again, memories of Sorscha and Manon would still be enough to sustain him.

***

Somehow, a pleasant evening with Kaltain ended in a frustration-filled sparring session with Chaol. The extra men he'd set on Aelin made Chaol feel as though he didn't trust him. The warnings and ways he set about pulling them apart made him resentful.

_I'm doing this for you,_ Dorian wanted to shout. _I'm protecting your heart, your honor. _

If only he could tell Chaol the truth, could thaw the coldness spreading between them with stories of the past life. Of what they'd found and lost. But he couldn't, he didn't dare tell anyone, for fear of who, what, might overhear.

So maybe he shouldn't have been surprised, when Chaol is a little too hard on him. This is one of the few ways the Captain of the Guard could act out against the heir to the throne.

He'd expected bruises, but he'd moved as Chaol hadn't predicted and suddenly his lip was splitting under the wooden practice sword. 

For a blink of an eye dark, thick liquid dribbled down his chin and then, hopefully before Chaol could fully comprehend it, Dorian made it look lighter. Human red.

He hadn't thought to check. It had taken a long time for his blood to darken in the last life. Acceptance of what he was, Manon had thought was the cause. That maybe his shapeshifting had been shifting his blood, too, into what he wanted it to be and not what it truly was, so that only when he had exhausted his power did he see the truth.

Illusions were an art that Dorian had never fully perfected, but for little things he'd grown used to them. In the last life, he'd done this particular one for years, until the end when he'd had no reason to: To everyone it looked and smelled like human blood. He knew a Fae could shove their nose in it, now, and not notice the difference. 

He just wasn't sure if the same illusion would work against a Valg King, he'd had no practice on them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the biggest plotholes in the books, I feel like (outside of the obvious 180 from having the King be the big bad to having it be Perrington all along lol), was that no one recognized Aelin. She has these super recognizable eyes, is the right age, looks like she could be Aedion's sister (and Aedion visited Rifthold a decent amount). And then Chaol of all people puts it together, mostly because she gave him a hint that was like the last piece of a puzzle lol


	6. Chapter 6

If the keys were not unique, Dorian pondered, idly gazing at Kaltain's arm one day at dinner, what stopped Erawan's brothers from returning? Did the gods or Maeve do something? Did their initial defeat include some sort of permanent banishment? What horrible secrets was he still missing?

He, Chaol, and Aelin had compared stories of Maeve at the end. She had not known how the Wyrdkeys were made, she'd been right and wrong to think healers were a danger to Erawan. But the three brothers had all known.

Erawan seemed to think all three keys could give him enough power to reunite with them, but why had they not simply made three more keys on their end?

These were the sort of questions he could not stop dwelling on now. In the last life, he'd let himself be happy and ignorant after the war. Now he didn't have that luxury. 

Everything rested on him.

***

On Samhuinn night, after putting in an appearance at the ball, he sat in the crypt of his ancestors under the old castle. Waiting.

Nothing came to him. No naively foolish Queen, no savage King with Dorian's own eyes. No Aelin, led by a dream.

Mort was silent, though Dorian knew it must watch him. Must hoard the information on his actions.

Had it told someone that Dorian had slipped in one evening as though he'd been there before? That he'd taken Damaris and hidden it in his own tower rooms, where it couldn't be used to view any riddle?

He spent the night carefully etching Wyrdmarks he'd researched on the floor, on the door, on the stairwell. No one but someone who knew the crypt was there should be able to find it. And no one should be able to trace the marks back to him, not unless Mort talked or the ghosts were watching and simply hiding.

"Hello?" he tried, early in the morning, exhausted and angry. "If you're there, say something!"

As he made his way back to the castle proper, he wondered if his shielding was working even on spirits. Or if they'd stayed hidden because they'd sensed a Valg.

Damaris was still where he left it, shining like new and not blackened from holding down a dying Valg King. Sometimes Dorian reached for it, wanting to ask it questions, but he knew by now that sometimes it just told him what he wanted to hear.

***

At first, Kaltain thought it had been his trip that had changed the prince, but asking around had proven it started earlier than that. Perhaps, she decided, it was whatever had prompted the trip. Or maybe he'd just come to some sort of understanding with the king.

It worked for her, so she didn't really care. He had taken one look at her when they'd met after his return and asked her for a walk around the gardens. And then to sit with him at dinner. To dance with him at Samhuinn, one of the few women he did so with before he slipped out of the party. 

She felt like the heroine of some child's story, living out the fantasy of a dashing prince falling in love with her at first sight.

He confided in her that the Lady Lillian was here for a task for his father and that he had no interest in her. He told her of his love of books and loaned her a few of his favorites, which she forced herself to read--paying close attention to every detail so they could have long discussions on them.

The Queen looked on it all with glowing approval. "I had never thought to see him choose a woman of such class, you have truly performed wonders, my lady," she said at court one day, making Kaltain feel as though she were walking on clouds for the rest of it.

The only dark spot remained Perrington. He was a Duke and related to the Havilliards. He was powerful and the king's closest friend.

When she finally told Dorian of him, confessing to what she'd said and done with him because she knew by now Dorian valued honesty and would love her more for that than hate her for her trickery, he had just looked contemplative. 

"I'll speak with him," he'd assured her, and if something dark had seemed to pass over his face at that, well, she'd had plenty of practice ignoring such things.


	7. Chapter 7

It had been so long since Dorian had sought out Duke Perrington he had to rely heavily on the guards and servants for his whereabouts. Thankfully, he was in his office when Dorian finally got up the nerve to see him.

The guards in this area of the Glass Palace, he realized with dread, wore black on black and had rings on their fingers. How did it take so long for Chaol to notice in the last life? Surely the rosters had to reflect something of this?

"Your highness, what an unexpected surprise! Do come in." Perrington flashed a smile that looked almost sincere as Dorian sat in the chair across from him.

The office had not changed much over the years, perhaps a few of the books were new, but Perrington had not been one for knick knacks or sentiment. There were only two small portraits on the walls, one of Perrington and the king that must have been painted shortly after their Valg possession and one of…one of the two of them with Dorian, that he had forgotten about entirely.

His childhood had not been a bad one, despite the Valg lurking in his father. It was one of the reasons, before, it took so long for him to act against the king. The few times he could remember his father being hurtful had most likely been when the man and Valg were fighting inside of him. Like the entire trip to Terrasen, where his father had ignored him completely.

Had the Valg just not cared or had it suspected what Dorian was from the start? Had the true coldness, the belittling and physical strikes, only started once the Valg became convinced Dorian was only human?

But Perrington, too, had not been...awful. Dorian had vague memories of calling him "uncle," though they were cousins in truth. And he'd been one of the people to instruct Dorian on the ways of the council when he was old enough to sit in on the meetings.

"I forgot you had that," he murmured, knowing Perrington would have noticed his attention on the portrait.

"You had been an unexpected gift to your father, children are to be cherished." 

He remembered the stories--he'd been born too soon, but healthy despite that. From what Elide and Manon had told him, he knew that the creatures the Valg made the witches birth had been born incredibly fast, but that wasn't the same thing. They'd clearly been monsters, and from other details, there had also been the impression the Valg weren't truly procreating with them.

How long did it take for a human-Valg hybrid to be born? Eight months, as it had for him?

"Oh, yes, my father has made it clear how much he 'cherishes' me." He didn't hide the sharpness in his tone.

Perrington looked away from the portrait, watching Dorian. "For years, he thought you weren't the heir he'd hoped for. That you weren't born to be a king."

Dorian felt cold inside as he registered those words, like a chasm had opened up and was trying to suck him down into it. King. Gold growing in his eyes, having to shapeshift them blue so no one noticed. Blood darkening as he grew older, but stayed young. So much power he hadn't even known what to do with it, before the Lock. _King_.

The first thing he would do when he left the room, he thought, would be to throw up.

"And you?" He kept his voice steady, somehow. "What do you think of me?"

"I think sometimes children of...different natures...go through phrases. And that perhaps we allowed ourselves to be deceived." Perrington--Erawan--gave an almost comforting look. "You are, I think, everything I had hoped you would be."

Dorian ducked his head, gazing at the fabric of his black trousers. He didn't respond, didn't know how to respond. His childhood had been good, happy almost, because the Valg thought he'd been one of them. Erawan cared about his brothers, it had always felt odd to Dorian to acknowledge that fact, that pure Valg could feel such gentler emotions. Apparently he’d been benefiting from that.

The silence stretched a moment, Perrington letting it, possibly knowing Dorian would be overwhelmed even if he didn't know the truth of why.

Finally, he asked, "Did you wish to see me for a reason, your highness?"

Swallowing, Dorian straightened again and forced calm through himself. He was ice.

"Kaltain Rompier, your grace, how serious are you in your pursuit of her?"

Perrington raised his eyebrows. "Lady Kaltain has...many charms. And is very interested in marrying up. I did not think, after the last disaster, that you'd pursue someone interested in marriage, though."

He flinched, knowing from the tone it would be expected, as he searched for what Perrington might be referring to. Finally, he remembered Rosamund. That whole affair had been so long ago for him and so meaningless compared to Sorscha and Manon, that he had almost forgotten.

"Father wishes me to marry. I know the women I normally spend my time with would be inappropriate. And mother seems to like Lady Kaltain. The only issue is…."

"Myself. And my agreement with her." 

Dorian could almost see Perrington weighing his desire to experiment with Kaltain against the continued illusion of a monarchy of humans. If the king was mortal, Dorian would eventually take the throne. If Dorian was mortal, he would need heirs. And if Dorian had power in his blood, breeding him with someone else with magic would also make sense.

But Kaltain had an affinity for fire and was right in Perrington's grasp, seemingly so easy to manipulate. She'd already confided once in Dorian that she'd been having headaches, whatever Erawan was planning for her had started.

"You are unmarried, your grace, and I would not interfere if Lady Kaltain is the woman that has finally caught your discerning eye." 

Perrington chuckled, Dorian recognized the edges of the sound from Erawan's own. "Oh, no, your highness, Lady Kaltain is a lovely distraction, but I have no serious plans for her that cannot be changed. I would be honored to know I had brought your future bride to your attention."

At least he’d managed to save someone.

***

When his father informed him cousin Roland would be visiting, Dorian couldn't hold back a groan. It earned him a glare, one that made him straighten his back and lower his chin in deference. Everything had seemed as though it were finally be going smoothly, he should have known something would come up.

"He will be joining the council," the king paused, as if leaving room for Dorian to protest so he might be punished, "and I expect you to keep him company as he settles in."

"He's been to Rifthold before, father, surely I'm not necessary."

The king gave him a hard look, the being lurking behind his eyes staring out. "He may not be family as we are, but he is a Havilliard, and he will have some influence at court. You need more people your own age to socialize with who aren't mindless courtiers."

Dorian mentally cursed his changes to the timeline, hoping Roland appearing so much earlier didn't also mean that he'd have to deal with Hollin soon, as well. Though, his father wasn't wrong that Roland could be useful--he had been an ally in the last life, if only as some sort of spy of his father's.

"I'll try, father, though I can't guarantee he will wish for my presence." 

"You are the crown prince, he'll delight in your presence as nearly everyone else here does. I think only your Champion and my Captain of the Guard have avoided you."

It was his turn to glare. Chaol was a sore subject, as his father surely knew. 

"I wasn't aware you wished for me to socialize with the assassin. I'll make sure to--"

"Don't be foolish. If I see you 'socializing' with that creature, neither of you will like the results."

Dorian bowed, gritting his teeth. "No need to make threats, your majesty, you can simply give orders."

"Can I?" The question was clearly rhetorical. "I am happy your little teenage rebellions have finally ended. Now it is time for you to do the work required of your position. To show me what sort of prince you truly are."


	8. Chapter 8

In the last life, Dorian remembered his father leaving during this time for...something. He couldn’t remember what, but assumed it had to do with the wyverns or some other soldiers. Now, he did not leave, seemingly intent on staying and observing Dorian’s growth into...into something else.

A few weeks after Samhuinn, having observed no means of knowing Aelin in any better way than he had before, and knowing that other factors would soon start interfering, he finally approached them after one of the tests.

“I thought, hoped, one of you would notice by now, too.” He gave a soft, humorless laugh, motioning towards where Aelin was being led out by the three guards assigned to her. "Or maybe I'm just seeing things."

Perrington was the one who took the bait, raising his eyebrows as he narrowed his beady eyes. “Notice what?”

Sucking in a breath, bracing himself against his doubts, Dorian forced out, “That Sardothien, an eighteen year old woman of unknown origins, has Ashryver eyes.”

He could see that his father realized it first, a few seconds before Erawan did. And then the temperature of the room plummeted and the shadows seemed to lengthen. Dorian felt the cold, but it did not affect him, even as the guards at the edges of the room--out of hearing distance--began to shiver.

“All of this time, she’s been here in Rifthold? Right under our noses?” His father gave a dangerous smile, exchanging a look with Perrington.

Dorian had bought their favor, selling his old friend as chattel to her enemies. He’d convince them it was too dangerous to use her as an experiment, somehow, to collar her--it was the least he could do for what they’d once had. But she would die for this, for his second chance.

He comforted himself by thinking of all the pain she would never experience, all of the new losses she would avoid. It did little to make him feel less like a monster.

If only Hollin had sent him back further, early enough he could have saved her Sam and sent them off to some far away place where they’d never need to think of Erilea again. She’d been seemingly content before Endovier to ignore her duties as princess, after all.

Perrington went to gather the guards to secure her and soon it was just Dorian and the king.

“I’m proud of you.” 

Dorian almost choked, staring at his father in shock. Of all the responses, he hadn't actually expected that. Was it the human or the Valg who’d said such things? And how much truth could there even be behind it?

“Don’t look so surprised.” The annoyance in his father’s face was enough to force Dorian to wipe his own expression clean. “You have shown time and again your dedication to our kingdom and your growing maturity. While I may not...approve...of some of your personal activities, you are my son. And I can be proud of you.”

This was like how he might reward his dogs after a successful hunt, he tried to tell himself, but it did nothing to stop the warmth in his chest from growing. 

“Thank you, father.” He didn’t know which of them spoke to him, the man or the Valg, and he didn’t know which of them he addressed, either.

***

Dorian spent half the night staring at himself in the mirror. He’d cried, though not much. Something felt hollow inside of him, that dark, cold place empty and stretching its claws up and up.

He’d had to do this. For himself and Hollin, for Adarlan, for all the witches who were good at heart. Aelin had her chance in the last life. She’d thrown it away for old prejudices and the poisoned words of her court. He had been a fool to think that how he and the witches helped against Erawan would make her people think any differently of those with Valg blood.

But having finally betrayed her, he could only regret it. He could have used his magic to kill her and make it look like an accident. He could have even ordered the guards to kill her, claiming she was plotting an escape. His father and Erawan need never know that Aelin Galathynius had survived.

What did it make him, that he was willing to hand people over to the Valg? She wasn’t innocent, not even at this point in her life, but no one deserved them.

He thought the worst part of all was that he knew he should care far more than he did.

The next day, he put off most of his duties in favor of spending time with his dogs and avoiding Chaol. His father didn’t comment.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I see people loved *cough* last chapter lol I may have cackled a bit ngl
> 
> Oh, reminder, if you are on Tumblr I am [manyangledone](https://manyangledone.tumblr.com). I love chatting about my fics and stuff!

Nehemia Ytiger had still come to Rifthold. Of course she had. The Light of Eyllwe thought she had a mission.

Watching her, Dorian couldn't see any signs of the duplicitous woman he had learned she had been, but he knew the moment she could sink her claws into Aelin, she would. No one knew Aelin was imprisoned, of course, sealed into a room under the clocktower. 

_He_ wasn’t even supposed to know that, because he wasn’t supposed to know about the passage in the library or the iron cells beyond.

Without her magic, he didn’t think that the iron would bother Aelin much. It hadn’t, not really, in that last life. Not until they’d brought down the clocktower and she’d suddenly been flooded with fire. Still, he shuddered in guilty empathy over the remembered feel of iron against his skin, in his body.

Nehemia had magic, of a sort. She knew Wyrdmarks. Because of that, Dorian had her watched. Oh, there were Chaol’s men, and his father and Perrington’s, but Dorian realized he had something else, too, now. He asked Kaltain for help and suddenly ladies were almost always in Nehemia’s presence, pretending that they weren’t as prejudice as he knew they were.

For himself, he had two ways of gaining her attention: He was one of only two people who she thought could make the Lock and he knew her language. He’d learnt it in the other life, but no one needed to know that he hadn’t taken an interest in it in his books. Her own trick worked just as well for him--pretending he wasn’t half as fluent as he was, but just enough to converse.

She played along, seemingly confused that she could not find Aelin. He’d even noticed her tripping the wards he’d set around Aelin’s past room and the door to the crypt within it. And he couldn’t resist playing his hand at that.

“Interesting part of the castle to explore.”

He watched her jump, caught off guard, and let himself find amusement in it. She’d always been so contained, so knowledgeable, with Elena and the gods guiding her along her path. There was satisfaction in knocking her off kilter, knowing she was here only to manipulate he or Aelin to the point they’d be willing to destroy themselves.

Whenever he saw her face, he imagined her body in the last life. Aelin’s expression, the heady feel of her rage as she attacked Chaol. Nehemia was _very_ good at breaking people. She had that in common with the Valg.

She had the tapestry pulled aside and the door open, so there was no way of hiding the secret passage. Dorian could almost imagine the thoughts going through her head as she glared at him--could she get away with killing him? Was there some way to make him believe he hadn’t seen anything important?

“I don’t know how your family’s castle is run, princess, but no one goes anywhere in here without _someone_ knowing.” He gave a cruel smile and a courtly bow. “You should be glad _I’m_ the one who found you this time. Others wouldn’t be half as forgiving.”

“I’m looking for someone,” she said, finally, her eyes narrowing.

Dorian scoffed. “In an empty room with a secret passage?”

Nehemia pursed her lips, looking around the room again. It had been empty for years, as far as Dorian knew. The gods must have _surely_ been the cause of Aelin ever having it and they’d somehow told Nehemia it would be where to find her.

“Celaena Sardothien. Adarlan’s Assassin. She should be here.” 

He made a show of his eyes widening, then looking behind himself as if worried someone might have been there in the empty hallway to overhear. “It would be best that you forgot that name, your highness, no matter what...business...you might have with her.”

Her glare was back, as scornful and belittling as it could be. “And why is that? You do not want others knowing of your father’s private assassin?”

“What? No, she’s not--” He grimaced, shaking his head. “She is no longer eligible for that. My father decided a few days ago.”

She tensed and he saw the edges of worry in her well-guarded eyes. “What does that mean?”

Dorian looked behind himself again, then stepped into the room, closing the door. He leaned closer to her, as if to share some great secret.

“I do not know where she has gone--I’ve looked everywhere in the castle, as has the Captain of the Guard, and we’ve even contacted people we knew in the rest of the city.” Not a lie, he’d made a great show of concern for Celaena’s disappearance. “She’s taken off, with only a few items, and I imagine she’s halfway to the Southern Continent or the Western Wastes by now. My father is furious.”

She swore, softly, words he was only vaguely familiar with flitting off her tongue. “You are sure of this? That she left willingly?”

He shrugged. “If she were in the dungeons, I would know. If she had been sent back to the prison camp, my father would have used it to taunt me.”

That made her nod in agreement. She hadn’t been at court long enough to see his “renewed” relationship with his father, would probably only know of old reports where he was still at odds with him. 

There was a whole rebel group backing her, he remembered. Her and...and Sorscha. Who he had refused to look for, still, in case his father or Perrington noticed his sudden interest. He had vague plans to get her out of the castle if things grew worse, unsure if she might be a healer in magic or not, but not wanting to risk her to the Valg regardless. She was too good a person.

Nehemia, though, he didn’t know what to think of her. Not an ally, never his ally, no more than she’d truly been Aelin’s. And surely too much of an unknown to be a piece on the board in his game against the Valg.

“Do you have any idea where she would have gone?” She tore him from his thoughts.

“She was trained by a man named Arobynn Hamel, he has a residence in town. He’s the only one she’s mentioned who would be powerful enough to make her disappear entirely from my father’s network.”

Dorian thought that Nehemia must know his father was possessed, maybe even suspect that Erawan was here, and so those words would have more weight. From the slumping of her shoulders, the terseness in her face, he thought so.

“This is not good. She was supposed to win.” She seemed to hesitate, and then placed a hand on his arm, looking at him with such a pitiful look that if it were anyone else, he thought he might do whatever she wanted. “Please, it is vitally important that we find her.” 

“Why? Why do you care that much about whether she wins the contest?” _How do you even know about it_, went unasked. “She’s betrayed me, shamed my guards and I.” 

“She doesn’t yet know, doesn’t understand why she is needed here.”

“Needed for _what_?”

Nehemia took a deep breath, grimacing. “There are dark forces at work in this castle, an evil dwells here. She was meant to stop it.”

Cain, he wondered, or his father? Or was it all just more setup to have her destroy Erawan? 

He snorted, pulling away. “I know you have good reason to find us awful, but _evil_ is a bit much.”

Shaking her head, she looked back towards the hidden door. “Come with me. Let me show you something.”

The tomb. Elena, perhaps. And Dorian couldn’t risk coming to her full attention. 

“Let me bring my guards and I will.”

Her frustrated noise almost made him laugh. “You can’t trust them, Dorian. You can’t trust anyone here.”

“Except you? A rebel who wishes to bring my family to ruin?”

“Your father is a horrible person who has committed great crimes. But you do not need to be him. You can be _better_, for the future of Adarlan and all of Erilea!”

Dorian wondered how much she believed that. Did she truly see a future where he was King of Adarlan in a peaceful Erilea? He had once believed he could be, that he was, and the nature of humans and Fae had proved him wrong.

“Give me a good reason to follow you alone into those tunnels and I will.”

But she couldn’t, she didn’t dare, and he left her then. He ordered his men to brick up that passageway and most of the others, leaving just his mother’s escape route intact. He had guards patrol the exit, for her safety. 

Nehemia would undoubtedly find a way back to the tomb, if she even needed to physically go, but it felt like he was accomplishing something.

He knew the men gave his father a report on it, but his father didn’t comment. Was this what it was like to have his trust?


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided I wanted to delay the next parts I had written, so this chapter is completely new (oops, sorry nanowrimo project lol). It added a ship I hadn't been planning but makes sense in retrospect considering lol
> 
> Thanks to everyone commenting on this! It's like the fic equivalent of a passion project and I'm glad to see other people can enjoy it haha

“You’re looking particularly lonely today, cousin.” Roland’s presence managed to sour Dorian’s already bad mood in an instance.

Nehemia was watching him like he was some great traitor, probably having found out the passage was sealed. Chaol suspected he had some knowledge of where Aelin had gone and was _also_ treating him like some sort of traitor (he’d worked so hard to keep them apart, was it fated somehow that they would be lovers?).

The only ones who weren’t were his father and Perrington and he desperately wished he was betraying them, instead. His neck ached, the phantom weight of a collar pressing down. They were the ones who deserved betrayal the most, right now.

Well, them and possibly dear cousin Roland.

"Lonely or like I wish to be alone?" he countered, looking Roland over from his pampered hair to the black ring on his finger.

That only gained him a chuckle, Roland didn't take the hint. 

Somehow, Dorian ended up at a party at a manse he didn't recognize, a mask firmly placed on his face. He'd done this a lot in his youth, he remembered, but had very little interest in it after…meeting Aelin, he supposed, or a little before that. Around the same time he'd started to acknowledge casual sex wasn't as fun as it had been.

Roland clearly still enjoyed it or at least gave the impression he did. Dorian didn't know if the Valg inside of him (not yet a collar, so not yet a prince) took any pleasure in what was happening or let Roland. Perhaps it let his cousin explore his sadistic streak all the more. Which wasn't a comforting thought.

Multiple women and a few men tried to get Dorian into one of the upstairs rooms. A few courtesans tried to tempt him into a purchase. But all he could think of was how Manon could have gutted them with a stroke of her hand.

Up until he escaped one particularly handsy man (would he have been so, if he knew it was the crown prince?) and turned a corner right into Lysandra.

He'd forgotten, somehow, that she was a courtesan in Rifthold. Maybe he'd wanted to ignore another complication.

"Hello." Her smile was perfect, just the right amount of invitation in her look, and if Dorian hadn't known her in the last life he might have even considered it.

"I believe I know what you’re trying to seek."

She pouted beautifully as she sidled closer, until she was nearly pressing against him. "I've seen you turning people down all night, are you looking for someone in particular?"

That reminded Dorian of what else was going on in Lysandra's life at this point--she was often hired by Hamel. Who had, somewhere in his possession, the third wyrdstone.

Letting the hint of a wicked smile curl his mouth, he turned his full attention to her. "Are you in the habit of helping people find exactly what they're looking for?"

"I wouldn't call it a habit, but it could be considered one of my talents." One delicate hand came up to play with the edge of his mask. "I'm very good at being exactly what someone wants me to be."

He almost laughed, but managed to make himself seem properly amused without any inside information, instead. That night he found himself back at her house, both of them pretending they were enjoying themselves more than they were.

If it gave him an in to finding the stone, he'd sleep with Hamel himself.

***

Chaol cornered Dorian not long after he returned early the next morning. There was a scowl on his face, but sadness in his eyes. 

“You’re entertaining Roland, now?”

“My father requested it.” He gave an exaggerated grimace, already disliking the tone of the conversation.

How long had it been, since Chaol had initiated a conversation with him? Surely it was before Aelin’s “disappearance.” 

_I watched you die,_ he wanted to say, to scream, at him. _I watched you die because of her and now you’ll throw me away because of a few months of knowing her._

“I’m sure your father wasn’t telling you to go sleep with half of Rifthold.”

Dorian glanced over himself, feeling the bruising on his throat, seeing how unkempt his clothing was. He was sure he wafted the scent from Lysandra’s bedding as he moved, too. Neither of them had been particularly careful with the other and he’d left a generous tip in return for the bruising he’d given her.

He shrugged. “I was with a courtesan, my father would approve of a professional. They know better than to think a royal bastard would give them any status bed dead and thrown in the river.” 

Lysandra especially, he assumed, as she knew how much his father seemed to despise magic and there was always some slight risk of being found out. Somehow. 

His eyes strayed to the clocktower before he could stop them, then forced his thoughts away from _that_ complication.

“You’ve never shown interest in courtesans before, aren’t the ladies surrounding you enough?”

Tilting his head, Dorian wondered if Chaol really didn’t know. They hadn’t spoken in so long and even before that, they were barely saying anything important to each other. But the rumormill had caught hold of who held his attention quickly enough.

“My father is in the process of negotiating a betrothal, Captain Westfall. It would be inappropriate for me to be seen with any of the ladies and an insult to my future wife.”

He left Chaol behind, slipping away and wrapping his form in shadows to hide from anyone’s sight. His shocked expression had been worth giving up the information he’d eventually learn, but Dorian found he wasn’t in the mood to discuss it with him.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone has as much fun with this chapter as I did!

It seemed as though the visit Dorian had made to Perrington had changed something between them, causing Perrington to invite Dorian to meet with him for a variety of reasons. Almost all of them quickly lost their illusion of business and became Erawan testing him, prodding him for...something.

Each conversation left Dorian with as many questions as answers, but so far he’d managed to avoid letting on that he knew who--and what--Perrington really was.

Just as Dorian thought the conversation during the latest meeting, which seemed little more than a meandering walk through the palace, was winding down, Perrington added, "I had two brothers, you know." 

He wondered if that would be true for Perrington, if Erawan had changed records to reflect that. He couldn’t remember ever hearing about them for the actual Duke Perrington.

Unsure how to react, he did his best to pretend at ignorance, still, "Oh...I'm sorry for your loss?"

Erawan stared at him through Perrington's Valg-black eyes. "I always thought I'd have more, someday. A new little brother to teach, to raise."

Titles, Dorian knew, had nothing to do with lineage for the Valg. He was starting to wonder if familial relations were equally as unrelated to blood. Were Erawan and his brothers like Dorian and Chaol? Did the Valg just scoop up any younger, weaker Valg with potential and attempt to create emotional bonds with them?

"Hopefully he would have been easier to deal with than Hollin," Dorian joked, still unsure how he would have reacted without his knowledge.

Perrington continued staring, the gaze too intense for Dorian's liking. "What have your dreams been like? Do you still fear the feeling of not being human? Do you still find that horrifying?"

"Your grace?" His heart sped up and he glanced around, only now realizing they were somehow alone, no guard or courtier, not even a servant, in sight.

Moving in a blur of speed, Perrington caught Dorian's face between his hands, forcing him to meet his eyes. They were no longer black.

"You are not one of them, Dorian. You are so much more than they can even comprehend."

He didn't dare use his magic, but he was close to the edge. If he knocked Perrington away, he didn’t how far he could get before either Erawan or some minions caught him. They wouldn't be expecting a shapeshifter, he might even be able to get out of Adarlan's territory. But they'd never stop hunting him.

"Perrington, what--"

"I have something to show you." Darkness was creeping from the corners of the corridor towards them and Dorian felt the beginning of panic, paralyzed still by indecision. "You'll understand soon, what you are."

When the darkness hit, suddenly, it reminded Dorian of that room deep in Morath with the collars. Of spinning and spinning in the air as the cloud of despair trapped his mind.

Except, while it felt just like that, Dorian wasn't reacting as he'd expected himself to. He felt no horror, no helplessness.

Maeve had hated her world, but her husband and his brothers had seemingly only left it for so long to go after her. Was she unusual for a Valg? Or was Dorian just so twisted inside from all he had witnessed, all he had done, that he no longer cared?

Screaming. Someone nearby was screaming. Someone other than him. They were in pain, terrified, confused. It was _invigorating_. Dorian wished for nothing more than to gorge himself on it and he was obliged.

Erawan’s glowing golden eyes shining out of Perrington’s face was the only light he saw for a very long time.

He writhed on the floor, gasping, clutching at Perrington when the darkness receded. “What was that? What did you do to me?”

“You’re growing so fast, Dorian, and growth requires sustenance.” 

What had he done, playing this game? How could he have been such a fool?

***

He took a private dinner with his father and Perrington that night. Dorian barely noticed what he ate or drank, feeling as though _he_ were that cold, dark space inside of his own body.

They watched him and if they were anything but Valg, he might have said doted on him. A babe, he reminded himself. He was just a terribly young Valg to them, king or not.

Slowly, unaware of just how much he knew, they explained what they were. Not in clear terms, not in ways that might have scared him off, but enough. 

"When the king was but a prince, he found an item of great power in the castle. He took it with him to Morath and he and his cousin went deep into a forbidden chamber. They released us."

"They? You?"

"You've never truly known either of those men."

He couldn’t focus well, but managed to look his father in his eyes to ask, finally, “Who is my father, then? If I’m....”

“I am, and this body to a certain extent,” the prince inside the king confirmed with a sharp smile. “Though, it’s clear you take far more after me.”

It was all that Dorian had wondered, in the long years of his last life after finding out his father had been possessed. He'd guessed at the truth, eventually, never thinking he'd hear it directly from his father's mouth.

He was plied with more of the thick wine and drank until all he wanted to do was sleep. The next morning he woke in his bed with only bits and pieces of what had happened left in his mind.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who responded to my survey! I'm honestly kinda surprised by how much interest there is in this fic ngl
> 
> I had the next 2-3 chapters somewhat written out, thankfully, and while I'm not totally happy with this one, I figured I might as well post it lol it will be the answer to questions I'm sure people had from some of the tags. Hope you enjoy! Mwahaha

His father recalled Aedion Ashryver to Rifthold just before Yulemas.

When Dorian asked if that was wise, with Aelin present, his father had finally taken him to the secret cells under the clocktower. He patiently explained the Wyrdmarks he used as they descended, spoke of magics ancient to this world and others. Dorian couldn't remember all of what had been discussed before, at what he'd come to think of as The Revelation, but knew his father was building off of that.

He only opened one of the cells, with Dorian having no way of telling through the iron if any of the others were occupied. It was lit only by the light of the hallway, the long shadows barely pushed back.

“As you can see, my boy, we have nothing to worry about.”

If he had not known Aelin as well as he had, he wasn’t sure if he could have identified her. She’d been pulled open, her organs taken, her head separated from her body and set on an iron spike. Rot, somehow, had not set in, even though it was clear she'd been dead for days, at least.

“What...what did you do with her….” He motioned at the gaping hole in her torso, keeping as clinical an attitude as he could in the face of Aemon's desecration.

His father’s smile was not a pleasant one, it made Dorian brace himself for some horrible truth. “You are a growing child, you need sustenance.”

The pain he'd fed off of during The Revelation, the fear. Now that he concentrated, he could feel it in the walls of the cell, permeating the air itself. Tinged with the exact traces of power and familiarity. And the organs….

He felt sick, close to throwing up, even knowing that days had passed, that not a trace of her would remain in his stomach. 

This wasn’t anything he had planned for.

His father seemed to take pity on him, leading him away, back beyond the haunting iron doors and into the fresh air of the palace. 

"We've let you act like one of them too long, now you think like them," the king bemoaned as they moved, his hand tight around Dorian's arm as though expecting him to run.

There was no safe response he could give and so he stayed silent. 

A witch had told him once that eating humans wasn't cannibalism, not for them, because they weren't human, even if some of their fathers might have been. Dorian had not thought about it more, hadn't wanted to think of Manon's habits before they met.

He focused on those words, on that attitude, as his father kept him close. He'd be punished for any reaction the Valg didn't like, in one way or another, and he refused to give up more than he already had.

***

Aedion did not, could not, know his cousin was any more dead than people suspected. And so he played his facade as well as he ever did, the careless general murdering his own people for Adarlan’s favor. He came in with very little fanfare during dinner a week before Yulemas. 

Dorian took one look at him and immediately lost his appetite.

“I expected to see you at that table with your guard friend.” Aedion motioned to where Chaol sat, probably assuming it would be a sensitive subject for Dorian.

Giving a taunting smile, the persona a welcome distraction from his thoughts, Dorian replied, flirtation clear, “But then I’d have to share your presence, why would I want to do that?”

He’d always found Aedion annoying, but the simmering hatred for him was greater even than it had been for Aelin. They had never fully reconciled, Aedion had never forgiven Dorian for the trauma his father had caused. As the years went on, it had only grown worse, with every meeting between Adarlan and Terrasen tenser still because of him. Killing him had been more pleasurable than Dorian wanted to admit.

“You don’t need to flatter me for an invitation to my parties, your highness.” Aedion’s smile was just as dangerous as Dorian’s, with the hint of his Fae heritage coming through in his sharper canines.

“I know I don’t have to flatter you. After all, you’re Adarlan’s Whore, and I’m Adarlan’s crown prince.” Dorian’s smirk widened as he saw the slight signs of Aedion bristling. “If anything, we should really be closer than we are, don’t you think?”

Recovering his facade, Aedion leaned in closer, his hand under the table brushing against Dorian’s thigh. “How close do you want to be, little prince?”

Dorian gave a lazy shrug and one of the sultry looks that had never failed him. “That depends on how much of my father’s puppet you are,” he breathed out, tracing a finger over the black ring on Aedion’s hand. “And how much you’re willing to do something that will make him very displeased.”

He could almost see the interest flair in those Ashryver eyes. Aedion didn’t particularly want to be with Prince Dorian of Adarlan, but he very much wanted to rebel against the King in whatever way he could without pushing too far.

“I’m hosting a party tomorrow night, I’ll send you the details,” Aedion murmured against Dorian’s ear, lips brushing the skin and making Dorian shiver in automatic response.

Then he was gone, striding out of the hall to most likely lay low until he’d be meeting with his rebel friends. On the other side of the table, Dorian’s father watched him, something dark shifting behind his eyes.


	13. Chapter 13

Kaltain worried for Dorian. She knew he often wasn't as in control as he appeared, he'd confessed to fearing his father and the Duke one private evening, adding to her healthy wariness of the two. But this…it was different.

He wasn't just avoiding his kinsmen, he was almost actively separating himself from them. The near united front the King and crowned prince had projected the last few months was collapsing, giving rise to rumors that neither the Queen nor Kaltain could contain.

Worse than that, it was clear that the stress of whatever was happening was affecting him. He wasn't sleeping and he was becoming almost clumsy in his exhaustion. Enough that Kaltain was beginning to have a hard time ignoring what she knew couldn't possibly be true about him.

Unsure where else to turn, Kaltain visited the castle healers, ignoring the disdain from many until she finally found one who was the right combination of meek and knowledgeable for her.

"I need a sleeping draught, something to calm the nerves and a restless mind."

"For yourself, my lady?" The healer, a young, pretty girl who wouldn't quite meet her eyes, asked.

She debated, then finally shook her head. "No, not for me."

"I'll need the person's general size. And age. The mixture's strength will vary for many factors."

With a sigh, knowing castle gossip had almost certainly caught up to her agreement with Dorian, she admitted, "It's for the Prince. He needs more sleep."

Watching the way the healer's eyes widened, Kaltain wondered if she had made a mistake. But the girl seemed to have a fire within her, suddenly, and was already moving to grab jars and tools.

The instructions she was given, verbally and on a piece of parchment, the healer taking great pains to make them as legible as possible, were so thorough that Kaltin almost regretted asking for anything. 

And yet, it was heartening to see there were people in the castle who cared so much for her future husband. It could only help him, when he eventually took up the crown. She left a hefty gift of gold as she gave her thanks.

If Dorian seemed distracted by the writing in the instructions, if his hand brushed over where the healer had marked her name, Kaltain couldn't begin to guess why. But at least he took the draught that night and many after.

***

“Rumor had it you were being a good little boy for your father. And yet, here you are.”

Dorian took the drink Aedion offered, giving his most charming smile in return. “I’m getting a bit old for teenage rebellion, my father simply reminded me of that.” 

He had put just enough bitterness into his tone to give the impression he was trying to hide it and he could _see_ Aedion taking the bait. Now he was wondering if the King had done something to Dorian, threatened or blackmailed him in some way. Now he was wondering if Dorian was actually at odds with his father, a potential pawn for the rebels if not an actual ally.

Without Chaol getting involved, Dorian needed some way to keep track of what the rebels were up to. Aedion was his best choice--it wouldn’t bring too much attention to him and even if it did, Dorian wouldn’t shed any tears over his father discovering Aedion’s fake ring.

“And I suppose putting aside childish things means you’re also more open to...adult activities.”

The laugh he gave was nearly sincere. "I've been playing such games for longer than this, general. Just not with you."

"And what game is this?"

He brought his glass to his lips, tongue flicking out against the rim to catch a drop of moisture. "The one where we do things we know my father wouldn't approve of, just because we can."


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been doing a bunch of Star Wars related writing recently, but have not forgotten this fic! My only problem is I don't really have the time to reread these books right now and some of the stuff I'm hitting I maybe didn't pay very close attention to last read through *sigh* lol

The plans that Erawan had put on hold due to Dorian were still in motion, proven when he requested that Dorian accompany him on a trip to the Ferian Gap.

He'd thought, for a moment, that his heart had stopped beating.

The Ferian Gap meant wyverns.

And witches.

_And Manon._

If the timeline had been changed for the wyvern training and trials, then she might still not even know what she was. She'd see him as something to despise.

Or would she? Hadn't they been drawn to each other? Valg calling to Valg, maybe. Or destiny tying them together. Dorian never knew which option was worse.

"I have a great deal of work here to--"

"I know of your work," Erawan's tone was pure disgust and Dorian was taken aback. "Whatever dalliance you have with that Ashryver whore can wait."

He'd known others would find out about his increased "closeness" to Aedion as he tried to get information on the rebels, but somehow he'd overlooked the Valg's particularly dislike of the Fae--sleeping with one was a step too far, it seemed.

No wonder why, even in the first life when he wasn't sure what Dorian was, his father had been so adamant that he not get close to Aelin.

Dorian stared at Erawan, knowing this was another crossroad. Two choices before him, with the obvious one being to keep his manipulations secret, to hold onto the knowledge of the rebels and their efforts so that he might use them to his own gain.

But his hesitance seemed to capture Erawan's attention and his rage faded, replaced by curiosity. "Tell me, Dorian, why do you have this sudden interest in an Ashryver? You were not so close to his cousin, who is far more your...type." 

The weight of power behind those golden eyes almost, almost, had Dorian spilling out those secrets, but he managed to restrain the instinct (and it was, he thought, some awakened Valg instinct, for he had never felt like this before The Revelation). "I have suspicions, I do not want to distract you with something so ethereal."

That did not satisfy Erawan, but he did not press. "The general will remain here, you may...continue after we return."

The confirmation they were returning, that Erawan wasn't keeping him at one of his strongholds, was a relief. Dorian could surely sneak away, especially if Erawan left the area, but it would always be a risk. There was still too much to do in the capital.

And he couldn't say he was entirely disappointed he was leaving, if it meant a glimpse, any glimpse, of his witchling.


End file.
